Verdigris
by ohprongs
Summary: "He might have hated green, but it wasn't that he hated Harry." Written for the Jealousy Competition on HPFC.


**a/n: **written for the Jealousy Competition on HPFC. I think Neville might have got out of bed on the wrong side. It's poetic license, and an alternative interpretation.

**disclaimer:** would Jo really be spending her half term writing fan fics? I think not.

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"There are days when I'm losing my faith because the man wasn't good, he was great."

- The Script, If You Could See Me Now

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He hated green. It was the colour of Slytherin, the colour of snakes, the colour of those _bastards_ that knocked his parents over into insanity, it was the colour of _his_ eyes -

He might have hated green, but it wasn't that he hated Harry.

It was - well, he wanted to think that he didn't.

He was just - whenever Harry came near him he'd get this sense of rage and bitterness and unfairness because - well - he didn't know why.

Maybe it was because she was his before she was _his_ (but she wasn't, because she loved the Boy Who Lived before she even knew him) and they'd gone to the Yule Ball and danced together and he'd been happy and he thought that maybe for once someone might like him for who he was but it wasn't that at all, was it?

He didn't know he could feel like this, and he didn't enjoy it, but he just couldn't help it.

Harry had everything.

He'd grown up in a Muggle house, for Merlin's sake, and he was one of the best in their year, and he could fly a broom on his first try, and he became the youngest Seeker in a century, and he escaped most scrapes with a trip to Dumbledore's office, a pat on the back and a cascade of house points.

It wasn't fair.

He, Neville, wasn't like that. He was one of the few with absolutely one-hundred percent _Pureblood_, and in many eyes that would rank him above most immediately. He was bottom or second-from-bottom in nearly every exam (Herbology, he reminded himself bitterly), and, yes, he too could fly a broom on his first try, only he flew it into a wall and broke his wrist. He would never make the Quidditch team, and the scrapes he got into ended with a _why is it always me?_

And then after the maze and Cedric and Lord Voldemort he noticed a change in Harry. He was still Harry - slightly obnoxious and cheekily charming - but he was broken; it was in his eyes. He was a child who'd seen too much and needed to escape, only he couldn't, because he wasn't _just Harry _ever, he was the Chosen One and the Boy Who Lived.

Neville had never fully appreciated before that Harry had lost just as much as he had - his parents had died but he got friends and fame and fortune, whereas he, Neville, had got disdain and shame and _you aren't worthy of your name_ - and he was still going. Still fighting.

They made the DA, they did, and they battled together, and slowly, piece by piece, Neville removed the armour he'd put up when it came to Harry Potter.

Before he knew it, it was seventh-year and they were the last ones left and the skies were dark and rumbling and there were bodies, too many bodies, and -

"Neville."

He jumped, clutching his chest. "Blimey, Harry, you nearly gave me heart failure!" Suspiciously: "Where are you going, alone?"

"It's all part of the plan," Harry said, waving him away but not quite meeting his eye. "There's something I have to do. Listen - Neville -"

"Harry! Harry, you're not thinking of handing yourself over?" Neville couldn't let that happen, because whatever bad blood there might be between them on his part, if Harry gave up they'd all have to give up, because there'd be no-one worth fighting for.

"No, course not...this is something else. But I might be out of sight for a while." Harry seemed impatient, and memories of the obnoxious boy flooded back to Neville. He wasn't a Legillimens, how was he supposed to tell what was going through the crazy boy's head -

"You know Voldemort's snake, Neville? He's got a huge snake...calls it Nagini..."

Neville considered Harry. "I've heard, yeah." Another pause. "What about it?"

"It's got to be killed," said Harry bluntly. "Ron and Hermione know that, but just in case they - just in case they're -" - he was tripping over his words - "busy - and you get the chance -"

Neville nodded. "Kill the snake?"

"Kill the snake," Harry confirmed.

"Alright, Harry." And then, because he was Neville Longbottom and he'd be damned if he didn't show confidence in Harry (and because his grandmother would have his head): "You're okay, are you?"

"I'm fine. Thanks, Neville."

Neville was pained. He took a breath and pushed back his shoulders and said, "we're all going to keep fighting, Harry." And because although they were fighting for Harry he wasn't the only one in this war and the repercussions affected everyone, Neville needed to make sure. "You know that?"

"Yeah, I -" Harry broke off.

Neville understood and patted Harry's shoulder, his faith returned. He released Harry's arm and, with a small smile, walked away.

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**Reviews would be like not leaving your college work until the last day of the holidays, i.e a nice surprise.**


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